Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland Part 30

All rejoice but Ilmarinen At the wonderful creation; This the language of the blacksmith; "Let the bears admire thy graces; I desire a bride of beauty Born of many magic metals."

Thereupon the wonder-forger Drives the colt back to the furnace, Adds a greater ma.s.s of silver, And of gold the rightful measure, Sets the workmen at the bellows.

Eagerly the servants labor, Gloveless, hatless, do the workmen Fan the flames within the furnace.

Ilmarinen, the magician, Works unceasing at his witchcraft, Moulding well a golden maiden, Bride of molten gold and silver; But the workmen fail their master, Faithlessly they ply the bellows.

Now the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Fans the flames with magic powers, Blows one day, and then a second, Blows a third from morn till even; Then he looks within his furnace, Looks around the oven-border, Trusting there to see a maiden Coming from the molten metals.

From the fire a virgin rises, Golden-haired and silver-headed, Beautiful in form and feature.

All are filled with awe and wonder, But the artist and magician.

Ilmarinen, metal-worker, Forges nights and days unceasing, On the bride of his creation; Feet he forges for the maiden, Hands and arms, of gold and silver; But her feet are not for walking, Neither can her arms embrace him.

Ears he forges for the virgin, But her ears are not for hearing; Forges her a mouth of beauty, Eyes he forges bright and sparkling; But the magic mouth is speechless, And the eyes are not for seeing.

Spake the artist, Ilmarinen: "This, indeed, a priceless maiden, Could she only speak in wisdom, Could she breathe the breath of Ukko!"

Thereupon he lays the virgin On his silken couch of slumber, On his downy place of resting.

Ilmarinen heats his bath-room, Makes it ready for his service, Binds together silken brushes, Brings three cans of crystal water, Wherewithal to lave the image, Lave the golden maid of beauty.

When this task had been completed, Ilmarinen, hoping, trusting, Laid his golden bride to slumber, On his downy couch of resting; Ordered many silken wrappings, Ordered bear-skins, three in number, Ordered seven lambs-wool blankets, Thus to keep him warm in slumber, Sleeping by the golden image Re had forged from magic metals.

Warm the side of Ilmarinen That was wrapped in furs and blankets; Chill the parts beside the maiden, By his bride of gold and silver; One side warm, the other lifeless, Turning into ice from coldness.

Spake the artist, Ilmarinen: "Not for me was born this virgin From the magic molten metals; I shall take her to Wainola, Give her to old Wainamoinen, As a bride and life-companion, Comfort to him in his dotage."

Ilmarinen, much disheartened, Takes the virgin to Wainola, To the plains of Kalevala, To his brother speaks as follows: "O, thou ancient Wainamoinen, Look with favor on this image; Make the maiden fair and lovely, Beautiful in form and feature, Suited to thy years declining!"

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Looked in wonder on the virgin, On the golden bride of beauty, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: "Wherefore dost thou bring this maiden, Wherefore bring to Wainamoinen Bride of molten gold and silver?

Spake in answer Ilmarinen: "Wherefore should I bring this image, But for purposes the n.o.blest?

I have brought her as companion To thy life in years declining, As a joy and consolation, When thy days are full of trouble!"

Spake the good, old Wainamoinen: "Magic brother, wonder-forger, Throw the virgin to the furnace, To the flames, thy golden image, Forge from her a thousand trinkets.

Take the image into Ehstland, Take her to the plains of Pohya, That for her the mighty powers May engage in deadly contest, Worthy trophy for the victor; Not for me this bride of wonder, Neither for my worthy people.

I shall never wed an image Born from many magic metals, Never wed a silver maiden, Never wed a golden virgin."

Then the hero of the waters Called together all his people, Spake these words of ancient wisdom: "Every child of Northland, listen, Whether poor, or fortune-favored: Never bow before an image Born of molten gold and silver: Never while the sunlight brightens, Never while the moonlight glimmers, Choose a maiden of the metals, Choose a bride from gold created Cold the lips of golden maiden, Silver breathes the breath of sorrow."

RUNE x.x.xVIII.

ILMARINEN'S FRUITLESS WOOING.

Ilmarinen, the magician, The eternal metal-artist, Lays aside the golden image, Beauteous maid of magic metals; Throws the harness on his courser, Binds him to his sledge of birch-wood, Seats himself upon the cross-bench, Snaps the whip above the racer, Thinking once again to journey To the mansions of Pohyola, There to woo a bride in honor, Second daughter of the Northland.

On he journeyed, restless, northward, Journeyed one day, then a second, So the third from morn till evening, When he reached a Northland-village On the plains of Sariola.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Standing in the open court-yard, Spied the hero, Ilmarinen, Thus addressed the metal-worker: "Tell me how my child is living, How the Bride of Beauty prospers, As a daughter to thy mother."

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Head bent down and brow dejected, Thus addressed the Northland hostess: "O, thou dame of Sariola, Do not ask me of thy daughter, Since, alas I in Tuonela Sleeps the Maiden of the Rainbow, Sleeps in death the Bride, of Beauty, Underneath the fragrant heather, In the kingdom of Ma.n.a.la.

Come I for a second daughter, For the fairest of thy virgins.

Beauteous hostess of Pohyola, Give to me thy youngest maiden, For my former wife's compartments, For the chambers of her sister."

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: "Foolish was the Northland-hostess, When she gave her fairest virgin, In the bloom of youth and beauty To the blacksmith of Wainola, Only to be led to Mana, Like a lambkin to the slaughter!

I shall never give my daughter, Shall not give my youngest maiden Bride of thine to be hereafter, Life-companion at thy fireside.

Sooner would I give the fair one To the cataract and whirlpool, To the river of Ma.n.a.la, To the waters of Tuoni!"

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Drew away his head, disdainful, Shook his sable locks in anger, Entered to the inner court-room, Where the maiden sat in waiting, Spake these measures to the daughter: "Come with me, thou bright-eyed maiden, To the cottage where thy sister Lived and lingered in contentment, Baked for me the toothsome biscuit, Brewed for me the beer of barley, Kept my dwelling-place in order."

On the floor a babe was lying, Thus he sang to Ilmarinen: "Uninvited, leave this mansion, Go, thou stranger, from this dwelling; Once before thou camest hither, Only bringing pain and trouble, Filling all our hearts with sorrow.

Fairest daughter of my mother, Do not give this suitor welcome, Look not on his eyes with pleasure, Nor admire his form and features.

In his mouth are only wolf-teeth, Cunning fox-claws in his mittens, In his shoes art only bear-claws, In his belt a hungry dagger; Weapons these of blood and murder, Only worn by the unworthy."

Then the daughter spake as follows To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: "Follow thee this maid will never, Never heed unworthy suitors; Thou hast slain the Bride of Beauty, Once the Maiden of the Rainbow, Thou wouldst also slay her sister.

I deserve a better suitor, Wish a truer, n.o.bler husband, Wish to ride in richer sledges, Have a better home-protection; Never will I sweep the cottage And the coal-place of a blacksmith."

Then the hero, Ilmarinen, The eternal metal-artist, Turned his head away, disdainful, Shook his sable locks in anger, Quickly seized the trembling maiden, Held her in his grasp of iron, Hastened from the court of Louhi To his sledge upon the highway.

In his sleigh he seats the virgin, Snugly wraps her in his far-robes, Snaps his whip above the racer, Gallops on the high-road homeward; With one hand the reins be tightens, With the other holds the maiden.

Speaks the virgin-daughter, weeping: We have reached the lowland-berries, Here the herbs of water-borders; Leave me here to sink and perish As a child of cold misfortune.

Wicked Ilmarinen, listen!

If thou dost not quickly free me, I will break thy sledge to pieces, Throw thy fur-robes to the north-winds."

Ilmarinen makes this answer: "When the blacksmith builds his snow-sledge, All the parts are hooped with iron; Therefore will the beauteous maiden Never beat my sledge to fragments."

Then the silver-tinselled daughter Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen: "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall change to ocean-salmon, Be a whiting of the waters."

"Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a pike I'll fleetly follow."

Then the maiden of Pohyola Wept and wailed in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake again to Ilmarinen; "If thou dost not quickly free me, I shall hasten to the forest, Mid the rocks become an ermine!"

"Thou wilt never thus escape me, As a serpent I will follow."

Then the beauty of the Northland, Wailed and wept in bitter accents, Wrung her hands in desperation, Spake once more to Ilmarinen: "Surely, if thou dost not free me, As a lark I'll fly the ether, Hide myself within the storm-clouds."

"Neither wilt thou thus escape me, As an eagle I will follow."

They had gone but little distance, When the courser s.h.i.+ed and halted, Frighted at some pa.s.sing object; And the maiden looked in wonder, In the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: Who has run across our highway?"

"'Tis the timid hare", he answered.

Thereupon the stolen maiden Sobbed, and moaned, in deeps of sorrow, Heavy-hearted, spake these measures: "Woe is me, ill-fated virgin!

Happier far my life hereafter, If the hare I could but follow To his burrow in the woodlands!

Crook-leg's fur to me is finer Than the robes of Ilmarinen."

Ilmarinen, the magician, Tossed his head in full resentment, Galloped on the highway homeward, Travelled but a little distance, When again his courser halted, Frighted at some pa.s.sing stranger.

Quick the maiden looked and wondered, In the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these measures to the blacksmith: Who has crossed our snowy pathway?"

"'Tis a fox", replied the minstrel.

Thereupon the beauteous virgin Moaned again in depths of anguish, Sang these accents, heavy-hearted: "Woe is me, ill-fated maiden!

Happier far my life hereafter, With the cunning fox to wander, Than with this ill-mannered suitor; Reynard's fur to me is finer Than the robes of Ilmarinen."

Thereupon the metal-worker Shut his lips in sore displeasure, Hastened on the highway homeward; Travelled but a little distance, When again his courser halted.

Quick the maiden looked in wonder, in the snow beheld some foot-prints, Spake these words to the magician: Who again has crossed our pathway?"

"'Tis the wolf", said Ilmarinen.

Thereupon the fated daughter Fell again to bitter weeping, And Intoned these words of sorrow: "Woe is me, a hapless maiden!

Happier far my life hereafter, Brighter far would be my future, If these tracks I could but follow; On the wolf the hair is finer Than the furs of Ilmarinen, Faithless suitor of the Northland."

Then the minstrel of Wainola Closed his lips again in anger, Shook his sable locks, resentful, Snapped the whip above the racer, And the steed flew onward swiftly, O'er the way to Kalevala, To the village of the blacksmith.

Sad and weary from his journey, Ilmarinen, home-returning, Fell upon his couch in slumber, And the maiden laughed derision.

In the morning, slowly waking, Head confused, and locks dishevelled, Spake the wizard, words as follow: "Shall I set myself to singing Magic songs and incantations?

Shall I now enchant this maiden To a black-wolf on the mountains, To a salmon of the ocean?

Shall not send her to the woodlands, All the forest would be frighted; Shall not send her to the waters, All the fish would flee in terror; This my sword shall drink her life-blood, End her reign of scorn and hatred."

Quick the sword feels his intention, Quick divines his evil purpose, Speaks these words to Ilmarinen: "Was not born to drink the life-blood Of a maiden pure and lovely, Of a fair but helpless virgin."

Thereupon the magic minstrel, Filled with rage, began his singing; Sang the very rocks asunder, Till the distant hills re-echoed; Sang the maiden to a sea-gull, Croaking from the ocean-ledges, Calling from the ocean-islands, Screeching on the sandy sea-coast, Flying to the winds opposing.

When his conjuring had ended, Ilmarinen joined his snow-sledge, Whipped his steed upon a gallop, Hastened to his ancient smithy, To his home in Kalevala.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Comes to meet him on the highway, Speaks these words to the magician: "Ilmarinen, worthy brother, Wherefore comest heavy-hearted From the dismal Sariola?

Does Pohyola live and prosper?

Spake the minstrel, Ilmarinen: "Why should not Pohyola prosper?

There the Sampo grinds unceasing, Noisy rocks the lid in colors; Grinds one day the flour for eating, Grinds the second flour for selling, Grinds the third day flour for keeping; Thus it is Pohyola prospers.

While the Sampo is in Northland, There is plowing, there is sowing, There is growth of every virtue, There is welfare never-ending."

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: "Ilmarinen, artist-brother, Where then is the Northland-daughter, Far renowned and beauteous maiden, For whose hand thou hast been absent?

These the words of Ilmarinen: "I have changed the hateful virgin To a sea-gull on the ocean; Now she calls above the waters, Screeches from the ocean-islands; On the rocks she calls and murmurs Vainly calling for a suitor."

RUNE x.x.xIX.

WAINAMOINEN'S SAILING.